Memoirs of a fallen Queen
by rach1803
Summary: Oneshot: On the night before her execution Anne reflects on her life and the two most important people in it. Enjoy!


**Hey, so this is my first FF for the Tudors. **

**I seriously love the era and the TV show, though I have really only seen the first two series.**

**My favorite character has got to be Anne, although she wasn't perfect she was intelligent and didn't deserve the fate she got.**

**Anyways hope this is okay!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Tudors.**

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><p>She paused from her prayers. The moonlight shining mockingly through the window. Mocking her with its freedom, with the light and life it had. Anne knew this was her last night, she knew she was going to die. Her lord and husband had commanded it, singed her death warrant. Her Henry. The one she adored the one who had always known how to make her heart stop; now he was doing it for real.<p>

She closed her eyes as she pictured him. He was everything to her and she, in all her naivety had believed she was all to him. She had wasted away precious years waiting, waiting for him to chase her, to lead her to their happy ending. To their forever. Know she saw he had only caught her, held her for only a moment. Henry didn't do forever. He only lived for himself. He didn't care for others; not truly, Anne was proof of that, living at least for now. He had changed everything to be with her, torn the country apart for her. How things had changed.

There had been a time, when Anne was the light in Henry's dark world. The fire to warm his frozen veins. The passion he yearned for, his every desire in her hands. He used to think of only her, his great obsession, his infatuation. His love. No, his lust. Anne had loved Henry, despite everything she knew she still did. But it did not matter now; her place in his heart had been filled. Her throne taken. Jane Seymour, the milky faced girl had done to Anne what Anne had done to Katherine. And it hurt. It burned and tortured every part of her mind and body, every part of her existence screamed in agony as she had seen him and her. Together, the look in his eyes, the look that used to belong to her.

His Queen.

Anne had never desired to be Queen, she had never wanted that. She had only wished for love, but her father, her cowardly father who had ran from his punishment, who had thrown his children into the fire. Who had bullied and schemed to achieve power. It was he who had wanted his daughter on the throne; it was he who had pushed her into the king's empty arms. And Anne had gone, she had gone and she had loved. She thought she had been loved in return.

Anne thought it strange, to be a prisoner now, for looking back she saw she had never truly been free. Not honestly, she had gone from the house of her father to the bed of a king. She had always been trapped. She, the Queen of England, she who at one time held more power than Emperors could ever dream, who had been the most influential courtier in one of the most prestigious courts, she who had it all. No she had never been free, Mary, her beloved sister, she had been free. She had broken the rules and was rewarded in return. Anne regretted sending her sister away.

Anne regretted so much, her treatment of her sister, of her step-daughter, of her ladies in waiting, of her friends. Of the fate of her brother, her sweet kind brother, who had perished, died only to bring Anne down. An innocent. But most of all she regretted her daughter. Elizabeth, her sweet, sweet Elizabeth. She regretted deeply, but not for the same reasons as the king. The king only wished for a son, and his second daughter was just a disappointment to him. Despite his love for her, Elizabeth would just be another piece of evidence against her mother. Another reason to be rid of the Kings Whore.

No, Anne did not regret Elizabeth because she was a girl. She regretted the memories her daughter would have of her. She regretted that the last time her little girl had seen her she had been a mess, screaming and begging for the forgiveness of the King. For one more chance. It haunted her to think that those moments would be the last memory her daughter would have of her, a hysterical wreck if a Queen. She regretted the lack of time she had spent with her, her own heart; she had seen her so little in the last few months. She wished that she had spent more time with her, played with her, talked to her. Been there with her. She regretted never having fed her from her own breast. No Elizabeth had been fed from the breast of a wet nurse, a stranger in comparison to her mother. That killed Anne much more than a sword ever could. The things she had missed out on with her daughter. But Queens didn't do that, they did not feed their own children. But then again, Anne mused, Queens did not get executed.

She hated the thought of leaving her daughter, her precious jewel, her world. She had thought that place was Henry's, but now she saw what a fool she was. It was Elizabeth's place, it had been since she had been conceived and it would be long after Anne's heart stopped. She hated the lack of memories her daughter would have. Would she remember her scent, her face, her voice? Probably not, Anne was no fool. She knew that from the moment the sword took her head, Henry would remove everything to do with her, if he had not already. He would burn all that he could and speak no more of the harlot that bewitched him. The evil whore who burnt his heart.

But Henry could not destroy Elizabeth, their daughter. No, despite everything Anne knew he loved their girl. But she knew he would not face her, the coward in him would never be able too. She would be sent away, illegitimate. The bastard child of a traitor and the king. Rejected by her father and taken from her mother. The girl would be alone and it would be hard. That was what really made Anne's heart ache. She prayed Henry would love their daughter, but she knew, looking at the Lady Mary, this would not be the case. Her baby would have a hard life.

But Anne knew she was strong, she had seen those characteristics in her darling daughter when she had spent time with her, Elizabeth was determined; she was strong willed and knew exactly what she wanted. She wasn't afraid. She was strong. That gave Anne some comfort in her final hours. Her daughter was strong, she would survive, and she would blossom. She would be a great woman and one day, Anne believed, a great Queen.

One of the greatest Queen's England has ever seen

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><p><strong>Hope it was okay!<strong>

**Reviews are always appreciated.**

**Rach**


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